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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979997">Restoration</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies'>helianskies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Everything is Francis' fault, Fluff and Humor, Healthy Relationships, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Museums, Teasing, but in a good way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:46:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio stays on late to finish work on a piece needed back on display by tomorrow. Arthur, the curator of the Baroque collection Antonio works with, decides to keep him company through the night.⠀| ｛ EngSpa ｝|   Art Museum AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>England/Spain (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Restoration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio pulled the glasses from his face and set them down on the storage trolly next to him. His eyes always felt funny after staring for so long at tiny strokes of paint as he worked to either restore or conserve the art that came into the visible collection. Some days he wondered how he hadn’t become cross-eyed. Other days, he wondered how he was still in this profession at all. <em> Because it pays well and it was the whole point of doing that degree of yours</em>. Yeah, that was probably the reason…</p><p>The conservator and restorer sat back in his seat, his brush going back down onto the pad next to the glasses and he looked at the painting he was doing his best to further preserve. Conservation specifcally was a serious science. The thing with classical paintings was that you had to look after every single component—paint, frame, mediums, support—to ensure that the condition of the entire piece was protected. It was a long process and it could be tedious, but with the warning from the museum director that this painting needed to be back on display by tomorrow morning, it was no wonder that Antonio was probably the last soul (besides the security guards) still on museum grounds. </p><p>It was probably around midnight. And he had run out of coffee. </p><p>Currently, he was focusing on restoring the actual pigment of the original paint from where the light intensity of its display room meant it had started to dry out and crack. It was a job he had done enough times before, but it didn’t make it easy—he was working with a Velázquez. <em> No pressure</em>. It was one of his earlier <em> bodegones</em>, a simple still life image of everyday objects, but that didn’t mean he could just mess it up. He couldn’t do a fellow Spaniard such a disservice.</p><p>Looking at what he had done so far, it seemed he had done alright. He didn’t want to do too much and risk damaging the work further—there was a fine line between an improvement and a mess, and as an experienced conservator, he knew roughly where it was. He hadn’t done a botch job yet. Antonio did not intend to start now. </p><p>Though… </p><p>Antonio picked his brush of dark paint back up in his gloved hands and leaned closer to the painting, having seen a miniscule patch of tenebrism that needed feathering and smoothing. One final fix and that was it, he was done and could move onto the frame. He just needed to make sure he kept steady and—</p><p>“Evening.”</p><p>A breath was sucked in out of shock and a hand seized a wrist before a paintbrush hit the wrong mark. Antonio felt mildly nauseous, and swiftly turned to stare at his unexpected company. He scowled at him, unimpressed by the little stunt—yet another in a steadily growing line. </p><p>“Evening,” he replied, taking his hand back and returning his gaze to the painting. It had been a good catch—if the paint had hit the canvas, that porcelain jug would have gained a small but dark splodge. Antonio deeply inhaled and hurried to fix what he had originally sought to handle, whilst saying: “It’d be nice if you could find a different way to say ‘hello’ to me while I’m working. Like, one that doesn’t risk a painting that is over three-hundred years old.”</p><p>“Not so worried about your career, I see,” Arthur responded. </p><p>Antonio shook his head as he finished the final stroke, leaning back again in his chair and letting go of the breath he’d been holding in. “You would be the one in trouble for disrupting me.”</p><p>“Good luck proving it,” the blonde remarked with a light scoff; “there aren’t any cameras down here to back up your story. And why would a respectable curator such as myself be messing around with you like that, anyway?”</p><p><em> Ha, I wonder. </em> Antonio put his brush back down and angled his lamp back upwards, illuminating more of the room around him. He turned around on his stool to face Arthur, who kept a smug grin on his face, and he said: “Because you enjoy tormenting me,” with a smile of his own. Though, when his eyes fell he saw in Arthur’s hand one of those cup carrier trays and two takeaway cups. He looked back up at Arthur and his smile stretched out slightly. “I hope you brought me something to say sorry for your near-mistake…”</p><p>“You mean <em> your </em> near-mistake. You were the one holding the brush.”</p><p>“You're the one scaring the crap out of me whenever I'm sat in a dimly-lit room—when no one else is supposed to be around besides the security guys—just because it makes you laugh.”</p><p>Arthur rolled his eyes. “No cameras,” he repeated, but Antonio knew he would never truly risk one of the works in the Baroque Collection he currently controlled. Arthur was a perfectionist like him. He had no doubt been ready to catch Antonio’s hand before any damage was done, like the little scheming weasel he was. “But,” he went on, “you’re right. I figured you’d still be here so I thought you could do with the caffeine.”</p><p>“And you found a coffee place open at midnight?”</p><p>“Are you joking? The security lot have their own machine in that dump of theirs around back,” Arthur said to him. “I promised them a cake in return for two drinks. Gilbert insisted on a chocolate cake, but his vote was thankfully overridden by the Victoria sponge fans.” He walked away a few paces to one of the actual tables in the room and put the drinks down. Antonio got up off his stool and went to join him. “It’s reassuring that at least some of them have taste.”</p><p>“‘Some of them’ meaning ‘none of them’, because they didn’t even <em> consider </em>a lemon cake, right?”</p><p>Arthur hummed, not really answering the question (even though Antonio knew the answer from his non-verbal language—a twitching lip, a shift from one foot to the other), and took one of the cups and claimed it was a cappuccino, before handing it to Antonio. He graciously thanked him for remembering to put the sugar in it this time. Arthur pretended to be offended—<em>'h</em><em>ow dare you imply I would forget how you specifically take sugar in your hot drinks after eight o’clock, because you’re a fussy bastard’</em>—and they sat down together at the table, allowing a momentary but tranquil peace to fall in the room.</p><p>A piece of lemon cake sounded good right about then. (<em>Did I even eat dinner</em>—<em>? Ah, wait, yeah, I stole some of Feli’s food. He did offer it to me, though, and it wasn't like he didn't eat</em>— <em> I only had his apple. Does that still count as theft? It’s not like he went without, I just had his apple…</em>). But coffee and citrus was not really a good mix when he thought about it—some combinations just were not supposed to exist. Perhaps it was better to just stick to the cappuccino, in that case. He could have lemon cake another day (he was sure if he asked Arthur nicely enough…).</p><p>Antonio popped the lid off his drink and set it down on the wooden table, his hands curving around the paper cup. </p><p>"You've still got your gloves on," Arthur piped up as he took a sip of his own drink (Antonio hazarded a guess that it was a decaffeinated tea, because Arthur reprimanded him enough times for drinking coffee late in the evening, and the man was no hypocrite).</p><p>All the while, the Spaniard looked to his hands to find that he did indeed still have his latex gloves on. <em> They're like a second skin, I didn't even notice. </em>It was all in the name of making sure no dirt from his hands was transferred to his subject, but Arthur would know that, so he made no comment on why they were still on his hands.</p><p>Instead he reached a hand over to a distracted Arthur's neck and lightly tickled his skin. Arthur nearly spat his tea everywhere. Antonio played innocent and ducked his hands under the table, pulling the gloves off whilst they were out of sight. Arthur cursed. Antonio shoved the gloves in his pocket.</p><p>Arthur composed himself. He didn't half look funny when he was trying to seem mad. “I really hate it when you do that," he huffed, his cup going back down onto the table. Arthur scratched his neck in the same spot that Antonio had <em> barely </em> touched and gave a little shudder. "You're such an asshole…"</p><p>Antonio gave a quiet snort: "I learned from the best," he quipped.</p><p>His arms resurfaced and he leaned on the table and took his cappuccino in hand. The first sip was always pure foam (he didn't enjoy it as much as others did; the bubbles were weird in his mouth, he felt like he was drinking air) but after that, coffee flooded his mouth and he was <em> so </em> ready for that caffeine high. Now he'd be up until dawn.</p><p>Next to him, Arthur was still recovering from the 'attack'. "You know," he said, "I'm starting to think I'm a bad influence on you. You used to be so…"</p><p>"Nice?"</p><p>"<em>Ehhh</em>, I was going to say docile."</p><p>"<em>Okay</em>… And… so you prefer it when I'm quiet and ambivalent instead?"</p><p>The blonde hummed an unsure melody. "Not quiet," he replied pensively, brows knitting closer together as he stared at his fingers, which in turn played with the corrugated ripples on his cup; "never <em> quiet</em>. I just think that how you are with me now is quite different to how you were before we started seeing each other."</p><p>"I don't see why that's a bad thing," responded Antonio, gaze fixed on Arthur, who looked back at him. <em> He's still frowning</em>—<em>and it's still cute. </em> "I don't think I've 'changed'. I mean, we've been dating for a few months, and you've known me for well over a year—I just think it's called 'being more open'. And you've become more open with me, too."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"The Arthur I met when I started working here would probably have reprimanded me for even <em> touching </em>him, let alone tickling him," Antonio shrugged and smiled, and Arthur nodded in response, smiling for himself. </p><p>Or maybe it was a grin.</p><p>"Don't think you <em> aren't </em>in trouble for that cheeky little tickle. I might be your boyfriend, but I'm also your boss."</p><p>Yeah, it was definitely a grin.</p><p>"And," Arthur continued, "I am going to make sure you regret it."</p><p>Antonio wasn't entirely sure why, but the other's tone seemed to be hinting as a genuine consequence. <em> For a tickle? </em>It would hardly be the first time he'd gotten 'in trouble' with Arthur because he'd done something that the other found less than enjoyable, but that sort of thing—both the teasing and especially the subsequent castigation—was reserved for their private spaces: Antonio's flat or Arthur's home. </p><p>The brunette found himself swallowing a small dry lump in his throat. Maybe his tiredness was getting to him (caffeine took so long to properly get to work!) and he was just reading things wrong, or overthinking, but… they were at <em> work</em>. They were seated in Restoration, under the main museum floor, and that was most definitely <em> not </em> one of their two specific private spaces. He wasn't going to try something then and there, was he? No… He wouldn't risk it, would he? Arthur had standards and they always kept their relationship separate from work (well there <em> had </em> been that one time, about two months ago, on another late night together that had resulted in a quick round in Storage, if he recalled correctly. He had actually—).</p><p>Fingers snapped in front of his face. Antonio jumped, his cappuccino sloshed, his nerves rattled through his entire system. He blinked and looked quickly at Arthur, who was staring at him, looking half-amused and half-bewildered. "Is everything alright?" the Brit asked him. "You seem… distracted."</p><p>It took a good three seconds for his brain to catch up, and Antonio hurried to say, "I'm fine!" with a fresh smile slapped on his face. He really hated how flustered he could get sometimes—Arthur just had a way, and <em> holy fuck</em>, did the Spaniard feel like putty in moments like this. It wasn't fair! </p><p>Before an incident occured, Antonio put his cup back down and decided to press the lid back onto it. At the very least, would stop it from cooling down too fast (a tepid cappuccino tasted like dishwater and dregs); at the most, it would prevent a disastrous spillage (but at least they were a good two metres away from the <em> bodegón </em> ). <em> I need to get a grip. </em></p><p>Maybe he really <em> was </em> just tired. He blamed Francis—he was the one who wanted the painting back on display tomorrow, which had loaded Antonio with the work and fatigue. It had already been six hours since he had started work on that painting. He had woken up at five o'clock the morning before. Maybe that was it, maybe it really was just tiredness making him more sensitive and susceptible to mere <em> words</em>. He really needed that cappuccino to take effect if he was going to finish, and maybe working in solitude as he had been doing was the only way to make sure he actually got it done in time. After all, he still had to check the frame, check the canvas supports, and then get the painting rehung in the morning with the help of the technicians when they got in, and then—</p><p>"You're doing it again."</p><p>Antonio clung to his breath and his eyes steadily drifted towards Arthur, his head still. "Doing what?" he tried to play off with a clueless look, a soft smile, a finger tapping lightly on the table's laminate surface.</p><p>No answer came. That just unsettled Antonio more. His eyes fell back on his cappuccino (<em>he's still looking at me, I can tell, I can feel it</em>) and he tried to think of something for them to talk about. He could afford a small break before getting back to work, so it would do no harm—</p><p>Arthur kissed his cheek. </p><p>It was a simple, short and sweet gesture. When Antonio turned his full head to look at Arthur, he was back to drinking his tea and acting as though he hadn't just done that very charming yet seemingly insignificant thing. Antonio was tempted to return the favour, to share the love. Little acts like that—unexpected, unprompted, unconditional little acts of affection—made him weak at the knees (thank God he was sitting down) and really could be quite addictive. Only… when Antonio did move in closer to kiss the other back, a raised hand rudely stopped him.</p><p>The brunette moved back, albeit reluctantly (<em>well trained</em>). "Let me kiss you." It was a straightforward (and forward, but not <em> straight</em>) request, but Arthur merely shook his head. Antonio frowned. "Why not?"</p><p>"You're only getting one kiss today."</p><p>It was said so matter-of-factly that it was hard to process it at first. For a brief, fleeting moment, a naive Antonio thought it was just a joke, but Arthur had started smiling to himself in the silence and something clicked in Antonio's mind. He grabbed Arthur's left hand, having to reach across him to get to it, and he pulled it closer so he could see his watch (Arthur was now stifling a laugh, but Antonio was not nearly as entertained). It was half-past midnight. That meant… twenty-three hours and thirty minutes without any kissing. At all. No matter who instigated…? </p><p>And that wasn't even the worst bit.</p><p>Antonio let the other's hand go and glared at him—<em>properly </em> glared at him—with a sudden fervour. "I'm supposed to be spending the night at your place," he reminded Arthur, in case he had unwittingly let it slip his mind. "What do you expect us to do all evening? Stare longingly at each other from across the room?"</p><p>"What's wrong with a good old-fashioned cuddle?"</p><p>"You might as well consider saving room for Jesus in our relationship and forget the hugs as well! You want chastity? <em> Be my guest—</em>"</p><p>"Relax, I was joking!” the other hurried to say. “You are so easy to wind up, you know that?" Arthur said, smiling more softly—more naturally—as he reached out his hand and brushed the other's cheek. A dog would have bit him for such teasing. Antonio held his tongue. "As if <em> either </em> of us could last that long like that. I might be an asshole, but I'm not a martyr. I'm not going to make myself suffer over something so trivial."</p><p>Antonio let him withdraw his hand before he inhaled, exhaled (<em>breathe</em>) and said: "I hate you."</p><p>"I know. I love you, too."</p><p>"Tell me, do you plan on staying with me here all night while I'm working?"</p><p>"Probably. Why?"</p><p>"Just gauging how much time I'd have to commit and cover up a murder."</p><p>"Joke's on you. Gilbert already knows to come by and check on us within the hour to see how we're getting on."</p><p>"The joke's on <em> you</em>. He'd jump at the chance to help me out, especially after you all rejected his chocolate cake request."</p><p>Arthur clicked his tongue. "Touché."</p><p>Antonio was satisfied with that conclusion. Of course he would never actually consider murdering Arthur—no relationship could be perfect, and if anything, he enjoyed the healthy taunts and spats and jabs like this because it only felt more real—and he was sure it was mutual. Arthur, the loving asshole he was, was invaluable, whether at home or at work. He kept him focused on his projects, making sure he was coping, making sure Francis wasn’t being too demanding (not that he was; Francis knew people’s limits thoroughly), making sure—as he had tonight—that he was not going out of his mind.</p><p>Even if he <em> had </em> scared the shit out of him and nearly caused an incident with the Velázquez. (Antonio really would have murdered him, then).</p><p>Point being: his intentions were (usually) golden. Like tonight, Arthur was keeping Antonio company because he wanted to, not because he was obliged to. It may have seemed like a simple thing, but it screamed thousands of words of dedication and commitment. And although Antonio would need to get back to work soon and focus solely on the conservation of his project, it would at least be nice to have a human being to talk to while he did so.</p><p>And maybe, if he finished early and they had a little extra time to spare… Well… It was just as Arthur had said: there were no cameras down there. No one would know what they ended up doing.</p>
<hr/><p>It was around six in the morning. The art museum was due to open to the public in a couple of hours and Francis needed to make sure things were alright. Sundays may have meant shorter opening times, but it was also a weekend, and he found people enjoyed killing time by walking around through different time periods, learning about art and history in one sitting. It imbued him with pride. But it also caused him stress.</p><p>Priority was getting the few works back on display that had been worked on over the weekend so far. He had already ensured that Renaissance was reunited with one of its statues, and that the mosaic belonging to Ancient had also been returned to its hanging display in the first ten minutes he had been in the building that morning. That left the painting in Restoration that needed to be returned to Baroque. Francis had been made aware by Arthur the evening before that he would oversee the work to make sure it was ready to be hung back up, but of course, Francis still had to check on it himself.</p><p>He dreaded walking down into the basement and finding Antonio hunched, brush in hand, eyes dry and red. He dreaded it every time. But every time, Antonio was fine and had delivered the usual golden standard of work without fail. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. It was merely that Francis worried that he put a lot of pressure on his employees—but Antonio, and often others, never said ‘no’. </p><p>It was a good work ethic, but it could be detrimental if they didn’t give themselves a break. That was why he planned to send Antonio straight home so he could sleep and rest and not think about work at all.</p><p>Only, when he did arrive in Restoration, the lights were off save for a single reading lamp and he couldn’t see anyone around. The painting was there, back in its frame and waiting patiently on a cloth on the table. Its conservator was nowhere to be seen. But regardless Francis flicked on the main lights and went to the painting to look it over. It was always a pleasant thing, to see pigment and character restored to an original work… He would have stayed there and admired it for long, had a soft groan not carried from somewhere else in the room.</p><p>Curious and puzzled, Francis walked out into the centre of the room, beyond the painting and the table, and he peered around the shelving units and other easels before he at last glimpsed the source of the noise. On one of the sofas (Francis had supplied them for employee comfort and satisfaction), he found that Antonio and Arthur had gotten rather comfortable together, brunette leaning on blonde and arms loosely fastened around each other.</p><p>It appeared that turning on the lights had stirred Antonio from his sleep. Francis felt bad, but he figured that neither of them would want the embarrassment of being caught together when their coworkers showed up for their shifts as well. Not everyone was aware of their relationship, after all, and they tried so hard to not let the personal flood into the professional. </p><p>Francis honestly couldn’t care less, in that respect. As long as the work was done, he was happy. Though… he hoped they’d not done anything questionable on his sofas. That was quality fabric, not second-hand rubbish—</p><p>“Fran…?”</p><p>The Frenchman smiled down at the brunette, and decided to take a seat on the other sofa, just so Antonio wasn’t straining his neck to look at him. “Good morning,” he greeted in the meantime. “I see you have gotten quite cosy there, hm?”</p><p>Antonio gave a quiet hum in agreement. This was not the first time that Francis had found someone—and specifically Antonio—asleep at work but it never failed to amuse him just how bushy-eyed and stiff they always were. Certainly amongst the restoration team, none of them were morning people. Not that that had to be a bad thing.</p><p>“I’ll have someone collect the painting so it can be put back up,” Francis told the half-asleep Spaniard, keeping his voice light and soft for his benefit. “Thank you for doing that—you’ve done a good job. But I want you to take the day off and go home, so you can sleep somewhere a little more comfortable than on a sofa.”</p><p>The other merely nodded, before settling back down against Arthur, who remained unresponsive all the while. Francis had to assume he was quite the heavy sleeper. <em> Best of luck to Antonio with that</em>. Still, it was not his place to wake them up—they had a good two hours before anyone was due in, and he was confident that they wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone before then—so Francis told Antonio he would leave them to it, that he should go home and maybe take Arthur with him, since they’d both been up all night, and he bid them a good day.</p><p>So, he left them like that, still huddled together on the sofa (Antonio had made himself comfortable again and closed his eyes, ready to continue napping—and who could blame him?) and went on his way back to the ground floor of the museum.</p><p>Seeing the pair together was a novelty, and it also made him feel quite thrilled. He smiled as he walked.</p><p>When Antonio had started working there last year, his skills and passions had made it easy to put him in charge of the Baroque and Rococo conservations. There had been no debate about it, and Francis had not hesitated. But when he had moved Arthur from the Ancient collection to curate Baroque instead, he may or… may <em>not</em> have hoped for a friendship to form at the very least. He had known Arthur so long and was tired of seeing him standing alone, just getting by, indifferent and quiet. Their personalities had just seemed so… compatible. He had been unable to resist.</p><p>Now, a year on, finding Arthur cuddling with Antonio on a sofa was miles beyond what Francis had expected to come from his hasty decision—but perhaps that was a good thing. They seemed happy. Who was he to say anything on the matter? He would simply let them be and restore each other, and continue to run his museum in the meantime.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>an Art Museum AU i didn't know i needed. someone give Antonio a round of applause for not messing up his restorations and another to Arthur for not nearly ruining that entire thing. assholes only to each other, but they wouldn't have it any other way. </p><p>oh, and someone get Gilbert some chocolate cake. and a spa-day break for Francis. pls.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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